


Sweet As Cherry Wine

by Kawaiibooker



Series: More Ghosts Than People (one-shot) [4]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Making Out, No Plot/Plotless, just some short and sweet cowboy lovin'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-28 08:36:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17784098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kawaiibooker/pseuds/Kawaiibooker
Summary: Soft make-outs and loving words.





	Sweet As Cherry Wine

**Author's Note:**

> Unbetaed.
> 
> A second fic for Valentine's as promised c: Enjoy!
> 
> Set in Chapter 4.

“Charles–”

Arthur's voice – usually worn like the pages of his journal, smooth yet torn in places – has an unsteady quality to it, the hint of a lilt that instantly sparks recognition in Charles.

“Charles, there ya are!”

Not unkindly, he states, “You're drunk”, catching the man around his waist before he can stumble face-first into the swamp and to his death. A glance over his shoulder, at the tents filled with merry song and the dancing shadows of lively flames on canvas. _Got started without me, huh?_

Shady Belle watches over them with aged grace: a thing of the past, as ephemeral as their presence in her halls.

Chest to chest, Arthur leans into him, arms around Charles's neck. “I missed ya.” His face is a little flushed under his hat, eyes all the more blue because of it. “Was watchin' the moon and waitin' for you.”

([Art](https://twitter.com/ScrambledStill/status/1098560503302025217) by [ScrambledStill](https://twitter.com/ScrambledStill), posted with permission.)

Bold words in the dark. Hands gentle on Arthur's waist, Charles breathes a fond huff, longs to kiss him and see if he can capture the soft shine of moonlight on Arthur's lips. “Walk with me?” he asks quietly, tugs him close, thumbs hooked into the belt loops of his jeans.

The night is warm, the air heavy with humidity and the near-by singing of crickets. Along the water's edge and away from the Belle's looming fassade they go; the party was Uncle's idea, Arthur tells him, a drunkard's attempt of lifting their spirits. “Would'a been rude to let 'em drink alone, you know?”

Charles nods, _mhm_ , light with teasing judgement. Then: “Got some left?”

Arthur flashes him a grin. “Done playin' the saint, huh? Wait...”

With his arm still around Arthur's waist, Charles is pulled into the beeline Arthur makes towards the horses. Dyani greets her owner with a low burr while Taima barely lifts her head from where her nose is buried in piles of hay. Her ears are pointed at him, though, tentatively inquisitive.

Charles rubs the center of her forehead but otherwise leaves her to her well-deserved dinner.

“A- _ha_ ”, Arthur cries and pulls a bottle of... _something_ from the depths of his saddlebags. The more time he spends with him, the more Charles learns just not to ask with these things – once Arthur told him he'd found a sunken pirate ship by one of the islets sprinkled near the shore at Clemens Point only to pull out a fittingly ancient three-point hat to prove it.

It's plain old bourbon, it turns out later, after they've settled for a peaceful clearing bathed in the silver glow of night. There's an oak there that is older than the two of them combined; its branches reach for the sky in an open embrace, and under its crown they sit, backs against sturdy bark.

In the distance, the strum of a guitar and laughter – a tether to reality, lest they drift away into the woods and never return.

Arthur glances up where the stars twinkle in between the leaves and smiles, “Beautiful, ain't it?”, and Charles looks at him and hums. The world is fuzzy around the edges, the tips of his fingers tingling with the heady course of alcohol in his blood.

Here, there is no need for hesitancy. When Charles cups his cheek, Arthur is already leaning over to meet him in the middle: a kiss like coming home, made complete by the eager noise he breathes against Charles's mouth, the tentative swipe of his tongue.

There's no need for urgency, either. Charles takes his time tasting him, each brush of their lips like the sweetest of wines, warming him from the inside; blindly he reaches for Arthur's hat, tips it up to see him more clearly. Those darkening eyes, a galaxy of their own right.

“Missed you too”, Charles tells him, brushes his thumb over the tiny scars on Arthur's chin hidden in his beard.

Arthur chuckles and reaches for him, fingers running over the beads of Charles's necklace then tugging, gently. “C'mere?”

As always Charles follows, getting on his lap like he's mounting a horse. The thought makes him laugh a little, husky with the teasing bites Arthur gives his throat, his jaw, every inch of him he can reach. Muscular thighs shift under him and Charles lets him feel his weight, rocks against him, swallows the hungry groan it elicits.

“Fuck, Charles–”

Arthur kisses him breathless, hands on his hips and guiding him thrust for thrust. It's his need Charles gravitates towards, the hardness of him against his own through layers of clothing. With Arthur, every touch is the discovery of something familiar, a reminder of what Charles doesn't let himself forget, not anymore: how sensitive he is under his hands, shivering as they slide into the open collar of his shirt that _does_ things to him and Arthur knows it. The starburst scar on his shoulder, rough under Charles's palm and yet reassuringly there, further proof they're still here and breathing through combined lungs.

There will be time for that, too – later, Charles will press his lips to it with reverence and Arthur will whisper, “I'm okay, we're okay”, over and over until the memory of gunpowder and the dizzying heat of the plains yields to the present.

The heaviness of the past can't reach them in this moment, however, with Arthur moaning into the night and Charles panting against his jaw. His balance is more than precarious, the fallen leaves and loose soil shifting under his knees; he props his arm against the thick trunk behind him, almost knocking Arthur's hat off in the process.

There's a swift apology on Charles's lips but Arthur is faster, gaze glinting with mischief as he reaches for it and places it on Charles's head instead. “Ride me, cowboy”, words uttered in a seductive purr that has Charles cracking up instantly.

He nips the grin off Arthur's lips, shakes his head fondly. “Ridiculous fool.”

The leather is soft with years of use, well-known from the weeks and months of pulling it this way and that to steal a kiss every chance he gets; and oh does that boyish charm turn to genuine interest now, with Charles leaning back and rolling his hips, hand on the hat and fire in his eyes.

They move as one, surging and cresting like waves at high tide, ever-closer to shore. Charles calls for Arthur under his breath, catches and holds his half-lidded look, all flushed haziness and shiny lips from his biting kisses.

So vibrantly _alive_. There's no other place Charles would rather be than in this moment.

([Art](https://twitter.com/survivorttype/status/1081287999328055296) by [survivortype](https://twitter.com/survivorttype), posted with permission.) 

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to wonderful [survivortype](https://twitter.com/survivorttype) for fulfilling my commission! <3
> 
> [tumblr](https://kawaiibooker.tumblr.com) / [twitter](https://twitter.com/kawaiibooker)


End file.
